


Open

by mayalinified



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayalinified/pseuds/mayalinified
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He suspects that he would never quite become accustomed to the warm body stirring beside him as the sun snuffed the darkness over the cut of mountains outside the keep</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open

**Author's Note:**

> Not really edited and it's the first thing I've posted on here for this gorgeous pairing...go easy on me?

Dorian was made aware of Cullen’s habit of waking before the dawn very early into sharing his bed. He could count the times he’d woken in Cullen’s arms on one hand, and he suspects that he would never quite become accustomed to the warm body stirring beside him as the sun snuffed the darkness over the cut of mountains outside the keep.

He lies on his back, Cullen shaping his body to his side with one arm slung loosely around him to ensure he’s kept close. What wakes him is the tender press of fingers to the dip at his sternum. The fingernails splaying outward across his chest until his skin is kissed by a warm palm.

His eyelids slide open, and as he turns his head he finds Cullen’s gaze trained on him through the dark -- the candle had blown out long ago and only the grey light of the oncoming sun grants him vision. Cullen makes a thorough observation of him: crown, to nose, to mouth, to chin, to both pale eyes peeking out from beneath their lids. Dorian is frozen, and frozen still when Cullen leans down to kiss him.

“Good morning,” Cullen says. His voice is deep from the last tethers of sleep, his hair curled from the efforts of the night before, his cheeks rosy from the heat he generated beneath the furs to warm them both from the mountain cold.

“Will you at the very least consider sleeping until the sun is completely risen?” Dorian mumbles against his lips. His touch is gentle on Cullen’s forearm and the taste of Cullen’s smile makes his hands shake.

They had never addressed their arrangement at great length. At all, really. Often they needed one another simply to hold or kiss or perhaps more. Dorian didn’t mind, and he handled Cullen in the dealings of romance the way one might an animal they wanted affection from, but didn’t want to frighten away.

But Cullen certainly hadn’t received any lessons on how to handle a non-binding sexual relationship. He gave Dorian all the affection that was presumed to remain absent. Kissing his skin, whispering such terribly sweet things to him as he slipped inside of him, and moments like this one, where he woke him with a sweet kiss, this look that he gave that was painful in its innocence and the feeling it evoked from a place in Dorian he had thought had been closed off years ago.

“Are you quite warm?” Cullen asks as he pulls the furs up to Dorian. “Or...my apologies I suppose I ought to ask if you intend to leave soon. I don’t mean to be presumptuous.”

Dorian’s mouth takes on a slight curve. “Presume all you like, Cullen, I don’t plan on scampering away anytime soon. As you’ll recall, your habits of sleep leave us a considerable amount of time before anyone will notice me leaving your quarters.”

They both chuckle, and Cullen leans to press slow kisses at the juncture between Dorian’s ear and neck. It’s a particular area that Cullen had learned the power of and Dorian rewards him with a soft groan of approval.

“Then you’ll stay?”

His words are so tortuously chaste that Dorian’s throat closes until he can’t breathe. But Cullen’s hand finds the smoothness of his stomach beneath the blankets, and lower still to his belly where the hair from the center of his chest resumes, and even lower still to base of his cock. He exhales then, shamefully uneven, and arches from the bed into Cullen’s fingertips.

“Well, I must insist on you in seeing this through,” he gestures with eyes to where Cullen’s palm had come to rest beneath the blankets. “And I can’t  with any sort of a rational mind deny you my company.”

Cullen grins, kissing the corner of his eye where Dorian was sure the kohl had smudged. His palm smooths over him until his cock twitches with interest against Cullen’s hand. He knows his mouth must be gaping, eyes rolling backwards, but he is still tired enough not pay his openness any mind. In fact, it seems to please Cullen immensely as he’s watching Dorian’s face with such intensity that Dorian feels something near nervousness to actually meet Cullen’s eyes.

“If you...want me not to do this, all you would need to do is say.”

Dorian looks to Cullen then.

There were moments that he moved with such surety, driven by passion or something of the like to pull and push and place Dorian where he wanted. It was something Dorian enjoyed, and he found that side of Cullen equally charming as the side that was a betrayal to that confidence. That side made appearances often enough to remind Dorian that it still existed, and the coexistence of both while they shared a bed was actually endearing, for lack of a better term.

Cullen’s hand moves to encircle Dorian’s length, pumping him and grasping him near the base to draw out the soft little gasps Cullen treasured.

“Cullen, I believe, y- ah!” Dorian grips at his wrist. “You underestimate the limits I have set for what I am willing to allow you of me. This...this is beyond a shadow of a doubt welcome at any moment.”

He earns a smile, and the roll of a thick finger of the slit to spread the precome around the tip of him. Dorian is squirming then, shamefully so, and holds fast to the promise that had set into the deep furrow of Cullen’s brow. That promise that extends to the hardness of Cullen’s cock that shallowly thrusts against his hip.

Everything felt slow. Everything. The feel of Cullen moving against him and the hand that tortures him below the blankets. Even the sounds he makes feel steeped to a heavy weight until they tumble unceremoniously from his mouth to mingle with the Cullen’s own. Their eyes meet intermittently until Cullen snakes a hand beneath the pillow to catch Dorian’s head on the other side, pulling his gaze fully towards him. Their foreheads press together, and the heat mingling against each others mouths between clumsy open kisses has Dorian feeling almost faint.

Without any sort of warning Cullen maneuvers him onto his side so that Dorian’s back is flush to his chest. He shivers at the breath, hot and ragged, on the nape of his neck as Cullen capitalizes on the openness of him remnant from the night before. Oil is fumbled onto his fingers and they press insistently into him so that Dorian is left whimpering and scrambling to clutch onto the bedroll so he might ground himself in a fear of floating away.

“Maker...the sounds you make,” Cullen groans. His fingers spread inside of him, coaxing him open.

Dorian can only answer with another pathetic noise and then a broken laugh when Cullen bites down into the skin at the joining of his neck and shoulder.

“Keep biting,” he whispers in response.

He enters Dorian gradually. Cullen’s girth isn’t easy to take no matter how many times they’ve done this. He is thicker than Dorian, slightly longer, curved deliciously and the reward is always well worth the effort.

He presses into him with what Dorian can only qualify as an amiable militaristic determination. He can see his blond brows knitted up with concentration, his lids closed, lips parted. He steals the opportunity to take hold of Cullen’s hand -- an impulsive action, considering, but it doesn’t for a moment appear unwelcome.

Cullen drives into him, kissing him as best he can at the angle he rests. Dorian arches against him and his free hand finds it’s way back to hold tight to the mussed hair at the back of Cullen’s head. This, also, does not appear unwelcome. In fact, it drags a high sound from Cullen, and a reflexive laugh as if he is just as surprised by it as Dorian is.

They move together lazily. Cullen grinning, panting, pressing his lips right to Dorian’s ear so he can do as he likes with his gentle words. “Dorian”, mostly. That seemed to be his favorite thing to say.

Eventually he lets go of Dorian’s hand to take his cock instead. His movements are timed perfectly to make Dorian keen and clutch even harder at his curls. Until, finally, he spends himself over Cullen’s hand with a hoarse cry. The sensation in his body ebbing and flowing until the energy had been clinging to by waking before he was ready is lost entirely.

He is hardly coherent by the time Cullen finishes. The other man is silent, as he always seems to be when he comes, but between the heaviness of his lids Dorian can see the pleasure on his face. He is so achingly handsome, so unapologetically unreserved in his bliss that Dorian is held willingly captive by his expression.

Then his body sags against him, and Dorian smiles languidly. He shifts upwards as best he can to ease Cullen out of him, then puts what effort is left into turning in his arms so that his head can tuck just beneath the Commander’s chin.

“Stay,” is all he hears above him. Then come the warm hands on his back and in his hair, the tangle of legs under the covers, the rise and fall of Cullen’s chest still rapid, heaving, but slowing each time.

He only manages to rub his forehead against the hollow of Cullen’s throat in some semblance of  a nod. Cullen hums and Dorian sighs, letting his consciousness go as the sun spills in through the cracks in the stone. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me in all my cullrian garbage glory at infinitygauntlets.tumblr.com


End file.
